


Soul At Play (ON HIATUS)

by jes12321



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Bitty Wears Crop Tops, Boys Kissing, Eric Has Long Hair, Excessive Use of Parentheses, Figure Skater Eric "Bitty" Bittle, First Kiss, Getting Together, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Idiots in Love, Jack Zimmermann Knew First, M/M, Minor Larissa "Lardo" Duan/Shitty Knight, Rated T for language, Shitty Knight is a Good Bro, The Kitchen Scene™, and if you think any differently you're wrong, except it’s my fic so I kinda do, i don’t make the rules
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25663891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jes12321/pseuds/jes12321
Summary: “Skating is an amazing form of self-expression. It’s like my soul at play.”- Canadian Figure Skater Josée ChouinardEric had always loved figure skating. He loved it too much to give up, so he stayed with Katya while his parents moved to Madison with the promise that he would visit often.By the time college rolled around, he had decided to go to Samwell College, seeing as it had a rink and it would be safe for him if he ever decided to come out. He had planned for everything to make sure his time would be used wisely while at school. Everything except the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team.ON HIATUS
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle & Larissa "Lardo" Duan, Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Shitty Knight & Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 31
Kudos: 181





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you didn’t get it from the summary, this is pretty much just an AU where Bittle stayed with figure skating, but decided he wanted to go to college, so he went all the way to Samwell. Please enjoy.
> 
> Also, I made a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1myYufA7jNe9qtzH2oytPb?si=-5gsndcsQxuYnhNNdH5Qlw) so go listen to that if you want.

Eric turned fifteen the year his dad got a job as a football coach in a small town in Georgia called Madison. He had just won gold at the Southern Junior Regionals. 

When his father announced that they would be moving, Katya had objected with Eric on her side.

“Eric has too much skill to just give it up like this.” She argued as Eric skated laps around the rink in an attempt to ignore the argument, which was getting harder seeing as the volume seemed to be ever-growing.

“There’s a rink in Madison,” His father argued, “He can practice there.”

“Yeah, a rink that is used by the local co-ed hockey team whenever Eric wouldn’t be at school. He needs a rink that he can use anytime he needs. That is what he has here.”

“Well, what do you want me to do? _Not_ take the job?” Richard huffed, “I have a family to support.”

There was a lull in the argument for a moment, and Eric had pretty much accepted his fate at this point. He would go to the small town and probably be pressured by his father to at least try another sport that he had approved. Something ‘manly’, as his father would put it. Eric sometimes felt tempted to ask his father if he thought he could actually do a double toe loop without falling on his ass. He never did. 

“He can stay with me.” Katya finally said after a while.

“Excuse me?” His mother asked incredulously. She hadn’t actively taken part in the conversation yet, staying quiet behind her husband, but that seemed to be the final straw. 

“I have an extra room in my house, and it’s not like he’s any more than a few hours away from you. He can still visit anytime he wants.” Katya took a deep breath before looking Eric’s mother in the eye, almost daring her. “Your son has promise. Too much for him to give up at such a crucial point in his career.”

“Dicky?” He finally heard from what sounded like his mother. He hadn’t stopped his laps, but now it wasn’t to ignore the arguing, it was to help him think.

When he looked over, he saw his mother’s face, and he almost said no right then and there. She looked so weak, and he hated seeing her that way. She was supposed to be strong, and he never wanted her to look at him like that again. But then he looked over to Katya, who’s eyes were full of determination and fire and, underneath it all, pleading. She believed he could do this. 

He steeled himself with a shuddering breath before skating over to where his mother stood at the edge of the rink. He took her hands in his own and leaned down to kiss her forehead. He may not have been very tall, but his mother wasn’t either, and the skates gave him an advantage he didn’t usually have. 

“Mom, dad,” He looked at them both before giving his mother’s hands one last squeeze. “I promise to win for both of y'all. Every time.”

Eric had never seen his mother cry harder than she had that day. 

As it turned out, Katya lived in a different school district, so Eric had to change schools anyway, but it wasn’t like he had any friends who would miss him. He still had three years of high school left if he wanted to make any friends, but he had a feeling he would be too busy for that with Katya around all the time. 

She lived in a modest home with a kitchen that Eric was looking forward to cooking in whenever he had free time. Despite how often she complained about how he shouldn’t be baking because of his diet, she always managed to down enough pie for at least two people her size, so he never took the complaints to heart. 

School was better than it had been before. People didn’t really seem to care that he figure skated. Sure, it wasn’t exactly his one-way ticket to a whole horde of friends, but no one actively made fun of him for it, which was better than before. Eric still had trouble whenever he was in spaces that were too crowded (so being in a public school hallway never helped) and he preferred to sit in the back of the classroom so he could see everyone, but he got by just fine. 

Most of the time, when he wasn’t at school, he was at the ice rink. He spent some of his time in a designated area of Katya’s home doing barre exercises and dance when they couldn’t get any ice time. Luckily, his coach was an avid believer that rest days were just as important as the work itself. He would usually do homework and bake on those days. 

On holidays, birthdays, and most times when he had multiple days free – and if he wasn’t at a competition – Eric visited his parents in Madison. It was kind of sad, seeing the room that would have been his. It was barren since Eric was never there long enough to actually put his mark on it. He always felt bad for leaving when his mother held him close and cried. For days after that he would usually throw himself too deep into skating in an attempt to work out any of those feelings. 

Three years in high school flew by, and soon enough Eric was frantically searching for colleges. He really should have started before he was halfway through senior year, but had he listened to his councilors (or teachers, or parents, or Katya)? No, he had not. 

Finally, after weeks of frantic searches, he found the school he was going to go to. Even if it buried him in student debt for the rest of his life. Samwell University. 

It was perfect. They had a rink and were nationally ranked for their academics, but above all, they were the _U.S. Ranking and World Reports Number One Most LGBTQ-Friendly Campus In America_. Not that he had actually come out to anyone yet. He hadn’t even said it out loud to himself. But no one had to know that exact reason for going to Samwell. 

Except, maybe, his vlog followers. However few there may be. 

Thankfully, they gave him a partial academic scholarship and a partial sports scholarship that almost covered the cost of his schooling in all. After all, school was just as important to Katya as skating was. She wasn’t going to have a student who had flunked out of high school. 

He had made sure to have everything planned out to make sure he got the most out of his time at Samwell. Especially since Katya was actually moving up for the next four years to continue training him in person. 

He had planned for everything. Or, at least, he thought he had. But no one really plans for the Samwell Men's Hockey Team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you're wondering, this story's title used to be 'Forget The World' from the song 'Chasing Cars' by Snow Patrol.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever just listen to an entire Kris Letang interview to hear what Jack’s accent would sound like? I do. At 10:45 at night. Because apparently Ngozi has described his voice as “A standard Canadian accent, but close to Kris Letang’s”, so technically, it’s research. (here's the [interview](https://www.nhl.com/penguins/video/kris-letang-on-nhl-return-to-play/c-5384806) if you want to watch it)

Jack had been told before that he took hockey too far. That he sometimes went too deep and had to be pulled out by someone else. But it wasn’t like it was _ his _ fault that he had anxiety. Anxiety that seemed to never go away unless he was on the ice. Even if he took the stupid pills that the doctor used to give him. 

Maybe that was why he took too many that one night. 

The doctor had warned Jack and his parents about the dangers of taking too many at one time. He wasn’t sure any of them had taken that too seriously. His parents trusted him, and he trusted himself. He used to anyway. 

After the overdose, his parents doted on him for the next two years. In the very beginning, they would check on him if he was alone for longer than just a few minutes. Jack knew he had destroyed their trust in him. It took a whole year to get them to trust him enough to coach a peewee hockey team, but it was a good way to get back on the ice without all of the expectations. It wasn’t until the third year that his parents were willing to leave him alone for more than an hour without at least calling. 

After the third year, Jack decided that he was done with being home all the time, and as much as he loved the kids he coached, he couldn’t wait to get back on the ice as an actual competitor again. 

He ended up at Samwell University, his mother’s alma mater. 

It had been intended as a punishment, but the team there was too good to let him wallow in self-pity. Especially his (self-proclaimed) best friend, Shitty. 

Jack and Shitty had met at the first practice for the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team as frogs. Jack had been waiting quietly, some distance away from the rest of the team, and Shitty had no regard for personal space. That, and he didn’t care about who his parents were. 

Shitty treated Jack like the best friend he had actually wanted. Well, maybe without the naked cuddling whenever Shitty felt like it, but Jack learned to live with it after a while. 

Throughout his first year at Samwell, nobody had come up with a nickname for him, despite Shitty’s multiple attempts. Jack was fine with that.

The next year, the team gained new players, who would later be dubbed ‘Ransom’ and ‘Holster’ (and become possibly the best pair of d-men in the history of Samwell Men’s Hockey), and a new manager that Shitty quickly became enamored with.

“Dude,” Shitty had climbed through Jack’s window and now laid on his bed as Jack attempted to study. Luckily, he was wearing boxers. “She’s just so…”

“So…?” Jack prompted, giving up on attempting to finish the essay he had been working on. 

“I don’t know. Every fucking word I think of isn’t enough to encapsulate everything.” Shitty groaned, shoving his face into his hands. He was a goner and they both knew it.

“So use multiple.” Jack replied easily, not looking away from his friend. 

“Amazing. Kickass. Independent. Smart. Creative. Honestly ‘swawesome. Not to mention, hella hot.” 

Shitty had sworn Jack to secrecy moments after spilling those very words, and Jack was glad to oblige. It wasn’t like he was close enough to their new manager to actually talk to her about those things anyway. 

That quickly changed, as with Ransom and Holster. Somehow, more people had wormed their way into his heart than had existed there before he began attempting to keep them out. Jack wouldn’t have changed anything if it meant he got to become friends with these idiots. 

  
  
  


Junior year was a big year for Jack. Professional teams would be looking to him to see how he recovered from his fall from grace. To see if ‘Bad Bob’s son was worth investing their time and effort into. The stress and anxiety never got too bad with Shitty there to help him, but there were still times when he preferred to go to the ice and skate out his feelings. Maybe even shoot a few pucks. Most anything would help. 

One day, during the first week of school, Jack had snuck away from Shitty and the rest of the team and made his way to the rink with his skates. 

He had expected the rink to be empty, like it had been the past two years when Jack had used it as his sanctuary. He had not expected a boy who looked barely five-foot-six to be skating around on the ice with incredible speed. And he had most definitely not expected the jump the boy did, somehow seeming to spin at least three times before landing perfectly on the ice, never losing his balance. 

Jack couldn’t help but stare at the admittedly beautiful young man. Now that he was closer to the edge of the rink, he could see the man’s blonde hair as the lights and sun reflected off of it. He felt his face grow warm at the flash of toned stomach he saw when the boy lifted his arms, raising the hem of the short crop top he was wearing. It was insanely distracting, and Jack almost forgot why he had come in the first place. His troubles seemed to disappear. 

The moment was shattered as the man finally saw Jack and made eye contact. He stumbled on his skates for a moment before righting himself and skating over. 

“I’m so sorry, did you have the rink right now? I didn’t see anyone signed for right now, so I thought I’d be fine. Oh, what time is it? Did I stay too long? I’m so sorry.” His voice was like honey, soft and sweet with a southern accent that made Jack want to swoon. He could see golden specks in his brown eyes as the sun filtered through the windows. 

“It’s fine. I didn’t think anyone would be here. You can keep skating if you want, I’ll go.” Jack mumbled, not quite sure how to handle the man in front of him. 

“Oh sweetheart, I need to get going anyway. You can have the ice.” He stepped out the door just a few feet away and unlaced his skates before seeming to remember something. “My name’s Eric, what’s yours darlin’?”

Jack almost melted at the pet names, but kept his composure. The man was smaller up close, and most definitely shorter. He barely made it to Jack’s shoulders, his long hair swept back. 

“Euh, Jack. I play hockey.” He gestured gently to his skates that he was still holding. God he felt like an idiot. He was about to panic about his super lame introduction before the sweetest sound Jack had ever heard filled his ears. Eric was laughing. 

“Nice to meet you, Jack.” He stuck out his hand, and Jack took it in his own, shaking it firmly before letting go. Eric simply picked up a duffel that Jack hadn’t noticed earlier and dropped his skates in it, leaving before Jack could even respond.

That was when he realized; this person didn’t know him. To him, Jack was just a regular hockey player. For some reason, Jack liked that idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know Eric’s hair in 1.2? That scene where he’s thinking back to regionals? His hair is a bit longer than that here.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am struggling so much to call Bitty ‘Eric’. It just feels wrong. I can’t wait until people start calling him ‘Bitty’.

Eric had been so flustered he had almost forgotten to properly introduce himself. 

Katya was unpacking at the apartment she had gotten for herself near the college. They had decided Eric would be living in the dorms while at school, which Eric hadn’t been too excited for, but he would live. Possibly. Katya’s kitchen  _ was _ at least three miles away from campus, and Eric wasn’t sure how long he would make it without baking. 

But Katya had refused Eric’s help unpacking, and instead told him to go use his free time to explore the campus. He had (predictably) ended up at the Faber with his skates. The rink was part of the campus, right?

In the end, he had spent well over the amount of time he had planned to. The only good thing to come out of it had been the practice and the very handsome hockey player with the bluest eyes Eric had ever seen. He had to be at least six feet of solid muscle, and Eric had expected him to force him off the rink to practice. After all, that ass could only be achieved through years of hockey. He had seen them enough back home to know. 

Instead, he had offered to let Eric stay on the ice. And he had been so polite about it. When he introduced himself, he sounded so awkward and sweet that Eric couldn’t help but giggle at the sight. 

He had quickly excused himself after shaking the man –  _ Jack’s _ – hand in an attempt to hide his ever-growing blush. His thoughts conflicted at hoping never to see him again and yearning to meet him again sometime. If he never saw him again there would be no chance of embarrassing himself, but maybe they could actually become friends if they kept meeting. 

Soon enough he was back at his dorm, and he was glad he had gotten one by himself, so he could talk out his encounter with the camera and possibly put it on his vlog without worrying about any roommates. 

Eric had pulled out the camera from where he stored it in the corner of the room for now and set it up. He was eventually going to find a better place to put it, but he still hadn’t quite finished unpacking yet. He would have earlier, but he had gotten quite distracted at the rink, so the backdrop of boxes would just have to do for now. 

Once everything was set up, he hit record and began to spill everything that had happened since he got to Samwell. 

  
  
  


The next day at practice, Katya was there with him. Apparently she hadn’t needed his help anyway, since she had managed to get almost completely unpacked by the time she went to bed last night. She had chirped Eric about it relentlessly all the way to practice, and hadn’t let up until he was actually on the ice. 

“Come on Eric, the toe loop is your best jump and you’ve flubbed it twice now. You’re distracted.” She gently held his shoulders as he stood at the edge of the rink. “What’s wrong?”

Eric contemplated lying for a moment, but Katya was like a second mother to him, and he couldn’t bear the thought of lying to her. 

“Well, I met someone yesterday while I was here,” He trailed off, almost embarrassed. 

Katya’s eyes lit up at that. As serious as she seemed around others, she really was a fun person if you got to know her. She had a soft spot for anything romance related, which had been most of the reason for his hesitance. She would most likely embarrass him somehow. 

“Well,” She prompted after a few minutes of silence, “What’s his name?”

Not only was Katya like a second mother, she was also the first and only other person Eric had come out to, and the first time he had ever said it out loud. Even to himself.

_ “Samwell?” Katya asked, seeming confused at his choice. “They don’t even have a figure skating program.” _

_ “Yeah, but they have a rink and some really good academics programs.” He held back the last reason. It wasn’t like he really thought Katya would hate him for it, but there was still that underlying fear.  _

_ “But Samwell? That’s a fifteen hour drive. And the tuition is already so high, not to mention out of state costs and housing.” Her voice was rising, but she wasn’t yelling. Katya never yelled. _

_ “Katya, I just need you to trust me on this. Please.” He took a shaky breath before he spoke again. “I can’t tell you, so I need you to just trust me.” _

_ “Eric, you know you can trust me with anything, right? I would never give up on you.” She was quieter now, but when Eric looked up, he could see the fierce gleam in her eye. It was a promise. She would always believe in him and protect him.  _

_ “I’m gay.” He whispered, barely hearing his own words over the thunderous beating of his heart.  _

_ The next thing he knew, Katya’s arms were around him and he was crying into her shoulder. Not tears of sadness, but of relief. He had no idea how heavily those two words had been weighing down on him until they had been lifted. When his heart finally calmed a little, he could hear Katya singing an old Ukranian lullaby that he had only ever heard a few times before. _

_ When she noticed his tears had slowed, she pulled back just far enough to look him in the eye, and placed her forehead on his.  _

_ “Thank you,” She whispered, closing her eyes. “Thank you for trusting me.” _

“Jack,” He finally admitted.

“Jack who? Did you get a last name?” He shook his head, feeling the way his face heated up at the realization. “Do you know anything else about him other than the fact that you obviously think he is very handsome.”

And if Eric’s face didn’t look like a tomato before, it did now for sure. 

“Yeah, he plays hockey. I actually met him here.” He admitted, trying to cool his face and get the blood back to the places it was actually needed. 

“Well, if he loves the ice anywhere near as much as you do, you’ll both be fine.” She gave him a pat on the shoulder and a small, knowing smile before gently shoving him back out towards center ice to practice his jumps again. 

His triple toe loop was perfect.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Bitty gets to meet the rest of the goddamn hockey team (sort of).

Jack hadn’t seen Eric since the day they had met at the rink a few weeks ago, despite showing up during nearly every unbooked time slot he could. It wasn’t until one afternoon practice that they saw each other again. 

The team had arrived and was changing in the locker room. As they finished, they made their way to the ice one by one. Surprisingly enough, Jack was one of the last to leave, still thinking about Eric and how he hadn’t gotten his last name yet. 

When he finally did make it out, he saw everyone sitting in the stands or on the benches, watching something on the ice. No, not something.  _ Someone _ . 

Eric was practicing on the ice, and if the cord going from his phone in his back pocket to his face was any indication, he was listening to music on a pair of earbuds. 

“Yo, captain,” Ransom called him over. “We didn’t want to start practice without you.” He lied through his teeth. 

“Yeah right, you just didn’t want to be the one who interrupted him.”

The way both Ransom and Holster laughed was enough of an answer for him. But that was fine. He had wanted an excuse to see and talk to him again, so this was great, really. 

He pretended to be annoyed as he hopped over the wall and skated over to where Eric was now leisurely skating in a wide curve. 

“I wouldn’t want to be that kid.” He heard Holster behind him. 

“Yeah,” Ransom replied, “He might end up too afraid to ever even come back. I actually feel kind of bad.”

Jack ignored them in favor of trying to get Eric’s attention in a way that wouldn’t make him fall on his ass. Although, that idea was quickly destroyed as he reached out to gently tap his arm, only for Eric to yelp and lose his balance. Thankfully, Hockey needed good instincts, and Jack was able to wrap an arm around Eric’s waist before he fell. 

There was a split second where they looked into each other’s eyes before Eric quickly scrambled back up onto his skates. 

“Oh, darlin’, you almost gave me a heart attack,” He put a hand over his chest as if to stop the speed at which it was beating. “It is good to see you again, though.” Eric’s smile was bright enough to rival the sun. 

“You too, Eric. I never did catch your last name, though.”

“Well, I could say the same thing about you, but since you asked so politely, Eric Bittle.” He stuck out his hand for Jack to shake.

“Jack Zimmerman,” He finally forced out after a moment of hesitation. He couldn’t see any recognition in Eric’s eyes, so he took that as a good sign. All Eric knew about him was that he played hockey, and Jack wasn’t sure he wanted that to change. 

That was when Eric saw the team in full gear behind him. 

“Oh dear, what time is it? I knew the hockey team was coming in later today, but I must have lost track of time. I am so sorry.” His accent was more apparent as he panicked, and Jack found himself wanting to get lost in it. 

“That’s alright. We’re here a few minutes early anyway.” He paused for a moment wondering if they were close enough to chirp yet. “You seem to lose track of time a lot if either time I’ve met you is any indication.” 

Eric just laughed before finally gaining his composure. “Are you chirping me, Mr. Zimmerman?” 

Jack hated how much he loved hearing his last name come from Eric’s mouth. It would usually irk him since most times it just reminded him of how everyone looked at him and saw ‘Bad Bob’, but for some reason, it wasn’t like that with Eric.

“Ah, so you know what chirping is, eh, Bittle?”

“Believe it or not, you are not the first hockey player I’ve met. I’m a figure skater, it’s a bit difficult not to meet hockey players when you have to share the rink. But anyone who’s ever even watched a hockey game would know such an obvious chirp.” He tried to put an indignant look on his face, but his laughter didn’t make it very convincing. “Well, I’ll get out of y’all’s hair now.” He began skating towards the door to leave. 

When Jack looked back, he saw confused and downright shocked faces of teammates heading toward him on the ice. 

“What the actual fuck, Jackie-boy?” Shitty asked. He looked like he had a theory, but was just waiting for Jack to prove it to him. 

“I met Bittle a few weeks ago when I came to let off some steam.”

“Bittle?” Holster asked a smirk on his face that matched Shitty’s.

“Euh, yeah. Eric Bittle.”

From the edge of the rink, Eric was standing, seeming to have gotten his tennis shoes back on. He waved, the arm lifting his shirt and exposing more of his toned stomach. 

“Have a good practice, Jack.” He called out before turning around and leaving the rink. Nobody said anything until he was out of sight, but the moment he disappeared, Shitty was on top of him. 

“Brah, I can’t believe you got a fucking boyfriend and didn’t tell any of us.” He pulled Jack into a noogie. “You majestic Canadian moose. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because,” He managed to extricate himself from Shitty’s arms and stand up straight on his skates. “we’re not dating. We just met a few weeks ago here at the rink, and I haven’t seen him since today. No dating. For all I know, he might be straight.”

“Well then why didn’t you tell us you had a crush?” 

“I don’t,” Jack dismissed, skating away in a poor attempt to hide his flush. They all saw it anyway but knew not to ask. He would just play it off as being cold, which they all knew was bullshit because the man grew up in  _ Canada _ for god’s sake, but they let him be. “Come on, we need to start practice.”

  
The rest of practice, Jack seemed  _ off _ somehow, and the three of them had a strong feeling it was because of a small, southern, figure skater taking up most of his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry I didn't update on time, guys. The school blocked this site on my school computer, so I have to use my parent's computer and it's annoying. Anyway, it's not a great excuse, but I really am sorry. I hope you enjoyed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, Bitty finally meets the hockey team (for real this time).

Eric saw the hockey team next between classes. Jack was walking with the three boys Eric had seen huddled around him when he had left the rink last time. It had already been a few days since then, but Eric’s heart still beats a little faster at the memory of Jack’s arm around his waist. 

“Yo,” The shortest one (who was admittedly still much taller than Eric) called out, waving at Eric. “Bitty.”

At that, Eric turned and looked behind and around him. There weren’t many people around. Definitely no one else the man could be talking to, but why had he called him ‘Bitty’? He pointed at himself as if to ask if he was ‘Bitty’ and the man just smiled and nodded. 

“My last name is Bittle, actually,” He told them, assuming that they had just gotten his name wrong. 

“It’s a hockey nickname. We’re part of the hockey team, so all our friends get nicknames.” He stepped forward and wrapped Eric in a bear hug that he, strangely, enjoyed. “My name’s Shitty.”

“Well now, that’s a bit harsh. I’m sure your nickname can’t be all that bad.” He assured the mustachioed man, patting him on the shoulder. This only caused laughter among the group. 

“Common misconception.” The tallest, a blonde man with glasses informed him. 

“That’s actually his nickname. Shitty.” The next one said in a thick Canadian accent, almost as if finishing the other’s sentence. 

Finally, Shitty (that can’t be his name, can it?) stepped forward again and gestured towards them. “Holster and Ransom.” He informed Eric gesturing toward each of the respective men. 

“Oh,” Eric’s eyes lit up in realization, and his face went red at the mistake. “Sorry, y’all. Does Jack have a nickname?”

“Nah, Jack may be a beautiful Canadian masterpiece, emphasis on ‘ass’, but he’s way too lame for a nickname,” Shitty told him, slinging an arm around his shoulder that Jack lamely attempted to push off, giving up much too easy to actually be giving a fight. 

Eric just nodded, a gentle smile on his face. 

“Well, that’s too bad. I was gonna try to become friends with him, but I can’t have lame friends, now can I?” He turned to the other three, who all looked amused, “Now, you three seem like pretty cool people. I think I could be friends with y’all.”

At this point they were laughing, ignoring Jack’s indignant cry of “Hey,” as Ransom laid an arm over Eric’s shoulders. 

“I like him. Let’s keep him.” He turned to Holster, who seemed to read his mind for a moment. 

“Maybe he can move in. I mean figure skating and hockey are both on ice, right? I’m sure no one would complain. We’ve had weirder people in the Haus.”

“Johnson,” All three of them said at once, a shiver going down each of their spines, as Jack just shook his head in disappointment and amusement. 

“Goalie,” Jack explained, suddenly close enough to whisper in Eric’s ear. The other three were thankfully too busy listing off all the strange people that had lived in the house to notice the new flush on Eric’s cheeks. 

“W-well, I have to get to class, and I’m sure y’all do as well.” He began backing away, attempting to hide his face from the four, now staring, men. “Maybe I can stop by y’all’s place sometime.” 

“Oh, yeah. Come by after classes today. We promise there’s no party tonight.” Jack shot Shitty a look and the man sighed before nodding.

“Well, alrighty then. I’ll be there in a bit.” He began walking away before turning around and calling back to them, “I’ll bring some pie.” and running off before they could protest. 

  
  
  


That day after classes, Eric headed straight over to Katya’s, where he began work on two pies. After looking in the fridge, he figured he had what he needed for one cherry and one pecan pie. Hopefully, that would be enough to stave off the hockey team. 

Sometime, in the middle of baking his first pie and preparing the second one, Katya wandered in with a look of amused confusion on her face. 

“What’s all this? Some special occasion coming up?”

He just laughed before explaining how he was going to meet up with some friends and that he would hopefully be out in time to still do his homework. 

“What kind of friends?” She asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. “Anyone by the name of Jack, par chance?”

His blush was more than enough to answer her question, and she smiled and chirped him a few times about ‘going to a party with his crush’. And no matter how much he assured her it wasn’t a party, the hockey team just wanted to meet him, she still would not relent until he finally left, two warm pies in hand. 

By the time he made it to the Haus (he had realized that he had no idea where it was, but the first person he asked told him exactly where to go and then warned him to go in the opposite direction) it was sometime around four in the afternoon, and most of the team should at least be home by now. He walked up to the door, but before he had a chance to even knock, Shitty was standing there wearing only boxers, practically drooling in the doorway. 

“Brah,” He finally got out, seeming to be catching his breath. “Your pie smells like fucking heaven on earth. I could smell it from the kitchen.”

Eric lit up at the mention of a kitchen and held hope even as he saw the horrid  _ thing _ that Shitty called a couch in the living room. The kitchen wasn’t in as terrible shape as the couch. It was at least salvageable, but the couch would have to go before Eric even thought about entering that room. 

Jack, Ransom, Holster, and a few other players Eric vaguely recognized from a few days ago at the rink but didn’t have names to match faces all stood in the kitchen, making casual small talk. 

As he set down the pies, though, they all flocked to him, introducing themselves so rapidly that Eric knew he was going to have trouble keeping them all straight. But his mother hadn’t raised a rude young man, so he set his mind to memorizing the names as they ate. It also helped him ignore the way they seemed to absolutely  _ decimate _ his pies within a matter of minutes. 

When they had finished them, they looked toward him expectantly, and he didn’t have the heart to say no to all of those pleading eyes. So, he set to work at making something with all of the random things in the kitchen, attempting to ignore the stares he was getting.

He almost passed out when he opened the sriracha sauce cabinet. The rows were three deep and on both shelves. There had to be at least forty just in the one cabinet. 

What felt like only a few moments later, he had managed to miraculously find enough ingredients to make another pie, which he cut up and served to each player. He could only take so much pie destruction in one day, and two of his precious creations was pushing the limit. 

After he and Jack (who had insisted on helping, the Canadian gentleman that he is) had finished cleaning and drying the dishes, Eric realized that it was already too late to finish off any homework, much less start any if he wanted to get enough sleep before practice tomorrow. And he definitely did. Practice without enough sleep was worse than hell. He’d done it enough times to know.

“You can stay here tonight. You know, if you want.” Jack offered, surprising Eric with how soft he looked in the low lights above the sink. “I’d let you have my bed, and I could sleep on the couch tonight.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose on y’all. And no one should ever even touch that couch, much less sleep on it. I’ll be fine.” Eric argued. And, sure, those reasons were true, but he also didn’t think he’d get any sleep in Jack’s bed. If only because it was Jack’s.

“At least let me walk you back to your dorms.” 

They both seemed shocked at the declaration, and after a few minutes of arguing, Jack was walking down one of the wide sidewalks with Eric. 

Soon enough, they reached Eric’s dorm, which was closer than he thought it would be. He was both saddened and relieved that Jack would go back to the Haus. As they stopped at his door, Eric realized how close they were and quickly pulled out his key to unlock the door. 

When it was finally opened, Eric took a step into the doorway, reveling in the extra space he had just gained, but also feeling colder as he was further away. 

“You have a good night now, Mr. Zimmerman. Make sure you get enough sleep.” Eric looked up and put on his most convincing smile, which was easily returned by Jack. 

“You too, Bittle.”

That night, after the door closed between them, Eric suddenly felt so cold.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Speedrun through Jack’s junior year? Yessir. Also, bending some rules with who is and isn’t allowed to live in the Haus.

Jack’s junior year was his best yet. Not only in hockey (although that’s also true), but also overall. And it may or may not have had something to do with a small blonde figure skater. 

By now, he practically lived at the Haus. Unless he was at practice, in class, or sleeping, he was there. And, even then, sometimes, if he was tired enough and the team was convincing enough, he would sleep there as well. After the first few times, feeling terrible for taking Jack’s bed and making him sleep on the couch, he actually bought an air mattress. Not that Jack actually let him use it. He was the guest after all. 

When he was there, he was always cooking. The hockey team never had a shortage of pies and pastries. Eric would even make breakfast on the mornings after he stayed overnight as a thank you, and none of them were about to turn down free, homemade breakfast. 

After a while, they had begun showing up at each other’s events. Eric came to every game he could, and usually, at least one person from the hockey team was present at each of Eric’s competitions. They were always louder than anyone else, and it had flustered Eric at first, but he got used to it after a while. Jack and Shitty were probably the loudest, though. 

After one of the first competitions, they had met Katya, who was a scary person. Or so they thought before they saw her congratulate Eric on his score. She had berated them for distracting Eric, but he had defended them, which definitely  _ hadn’t _ made Jack’s heart flutter and beat just that much faster. 

Towards the end of the first semester, Eric had finally come out to them sometime after some prodding from Holster and Ransom about who he was taking to the Winter Screw with him. They had all thanked him for trusting them enough to confide in them, although he had admitted that he told Shitty a few days earlier than the rest of them, but Jack understood. 

The Winter Screw wasn’t very fun for Jack. His date wasn’t interested in a relationship with him, and neither was Jack. Apparently, Eric’s night hadn’t gone much better, seeing as his date had thrown up on his shoes before ditching him. Just like that first night Eric had come to the Haus, Jack offered to walk him home. 

Eric, despite being a figure skater who probably spent more time on the ice than off of it and practiced in joggers and a crop top, got cold very easily. The hockey team, being made up of gentlemen, Canadians, and people who just adored Eric (or possibly wanted to gain his favor for pie), always offered their jackets or sweatshirts. At this point, Jack was pretty sure Eric owned more Samwell hoodies and sweatshirts than the entire hockey team. 

It wasn’t until early into the second semester, right before Lardo came back from studying abroad, that the clothes were returned. 

_ “I am so sorry it took this long, y’all.” Eric had apologized, carrying a giant cardboard box into the Haus one day. “I kept wanting to bring them back at once, so I’d wash them, but y’all just kept giving them to me, so–” _

_ “Bits, it’s alright dude.” Shitty had interrupted before he could ramble any longer. “But what the fuck are you talking about?” _

_ “Oh,” He set the box onto the kitchen table before opening it to reveal at least twenty, red, Samwell hockey team hoodies and sweatshirts, each one folded perfectly. “I labeled them as well, so don’t y’all worry.” _

As much as Jack had loved seeing Eric in his hoodie (for some godforsaken reason) he also loved the fact that since Eric had gone through the trouble of washing them all, it smelled like him. He was a bit embarrassed to say he didn’t wear it again until the scent had worn off. 

When Lardo finally got back, she and Eric hit it off right away. She even asked him to model for a few of her paintings. Apparently flexibility was useful even off the ice. But Jack wasn’t going to think any more about that. 

A few weeks after that, the new crop of ‘new recruits’ was in town, and Eric had taken it upon himself to give them the tour. Jack had taken pity on him and gone along to help. Really, though, Eric used him to carry the box filled with gift bags he had personally made for each person. 

After introducing himself as ‘official Samwell Hockey hospitality representative and unofficial tour guide’ and explaining exactly what was in the bags, one of them, a boy with dark hair and braces, had already declared he was enrolling as Samwell, so maybe Eric’s methods worked. 

_ “Yo, that other team manager is mad hyper.” One of the recruits pointed behind him to Eric where he was still explaining the bags.  _

_ “He’s not a manager,” Jack cut in for a reason even he did quite know. “He’s a figure skater, actually.” _

_ “Then why is he leading the hockey team tour guide?” A different one asked.  _

_ “Well, figure skating wasn’t an official thing here until Bittle came, so they don’t actually have any recruits.” Jack explained before allowing the smallest smile to show, “That, and he practically lives with the team anyway, so he’s like an honorary member.” _

Towards the end of the second semester, Eric had a particularly nasty fall during practice. It was right after the hockey team had made it to the Frozen Four. He had landed wrong and somehow hit his head on the ice,  _ hard _ . Hard enough to get a concussion anyway. He wasn’t allowed to skate until after the summer, and he had to go stay with Katya for a few days since the doctors wanted someone to watch him while he slept, and she didn’t exactly trust a house full of hockey jocks with the job. 

A bit after that, when Ransom and Holster were beginning to actually complain about how much they missed Eric and his delicious pies, he was fine to come over. So long as he didn’t go to any of their kegsters. 

Katya had been the one to drop him off, and she looked at Jack with an appraising glance before softening and patting his shoulder. 

_ “Take care of him.” _

_ “Yes ma’am.” _

Luckily for everyone who had missed Eric (spoiler: it was _everyone_ ), Johnson had offered his dibs to Eric a few weeks before the accident, and despite some half-hearted protests that he wasn’t even a member of the team, they let him move in any way.

Really, it was probably because of that, on the last day that the whole team would still be at school, they presented him with his own jersey. 

_ “But, y’all, I couldn’t. I’m not even on the team.” He had argued as tears fell slowly down his cheeks. Jack definitely had not had a sudden urge to wipe them away.  _

_ “Bittle, you’re as much a part of this team as any of us,” Jack assured, handing him the jersey. “Plus, if it makes you feel any better, Lardo has a jersey, too. She’s just ‘too cool’ to wear it.” _

There had been a lot of tears that day. Eric with the most, followed closely by Shitty. 

And somehow, as Jack said goodbye to Eric as he left for his summer hockey camps, he had a feeling that next year would be his favorite year at Samwell by far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I need more chapters to my story.   
> Also me: Let’s go through an entire year in a single chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bittle lives with these idiots now, and he absolutely loves it. Also, I took some dialogue straight from the comic, because you can’t make the Kitchen Scene™ dialogue any better than it is

Eric loved living at the Haus. It was almost exactly like before, except he felt more at home, and he had his own bed, so he could sleep soundly knowing Jack was sleeping in his own bed instead of on an air mattress or that diseased couch. 

He had come back earlier than anyone else who lived in the Haus, so he decided to do some redecorating. It was a lot easier to do ever since that growth spurt he had hit over the summer. Really, it was just intensive cleaning (which, yes, he found relaxing), reorganizing some things, and some new decor, like the wonderful curtains his mother had sent him for the kitchen. And if any of them complained that the beer was now in the cooler downstairs, he would point out that they were perfectly healthy men that could walk down a flight of stairs for some beer. 

When the frogs came in, he made sure they felt at home. The moment he saw Chowder, he adopted him as his son, and no one could tell him differently. That boy was too precious to be taken in by anyone else. They would simply ruin him. Although the fact that his pre-game ritual included taking a nap on the horrid, green, monstrosity of a couch may already be doing that. 

A few weeks after school started, Eric was tasked with abducting Jack for Hazeapalooza. But despite his honorary membership, he wasn’t allowed to join in. Which was fine with him, until he found out that he had missed out on shirtless Jack. 

A few weeks after that, Eric ran into Jack (literally) while he was on a run and found out that he was considering the Providence Falconers. They were only a forty-minute drive away, and the thought of Jack being any further away made Eric’s heart clench in an uncomfortable way that he decided to ignore for the time being. 

It was that same semester that Eric, er,  _ charmed _ his way into a senior class called Women, Food, and American Culture. Jack called it bribery, but the pie had nothing to do with getting into the class that only seniors were supposed to be taking. Probably.

Said captain of the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team was also in the class, and even sat next to him. Eric couldn’t help but notice that he drew hockey plays in his notebooks instead of taking actual notes. So, when the teacher said they would be partnering up for their final project, and Jack looked so lost as he looked over to Eric, the younger man simply patted his arm and reassured him. 

As they actually made the pie, it was  _ different _ , but not in a bad way. Eric wasn’t sure he had ever spent more than ten minutes alone with Jack, but here he was. 

“Bittle, I’m messing up your project. Look at this, it’s awful.” Jack mumbled, attempting to do a lattice on the pie they were making. 

“Stop it; I’m sure it’s great. Let me see–” 

They both turned around at the same time, and they bumped together gently. Jack was holding the pie above him with both hands, but the moment still reminded him of the second time they met. He suddenly felt the ghost of Jack’s arm around his waist. 

“I told you already, no checking.” He attempted to chirp as he readjusted the bag of flour in his arms. “Especially not in my kitchen.”

“Your kitchen?” Jack asked, an amused but teasing smile on his face. 

“Well,  _ the _ kitchen.” He was flustered now. This wasn’t good. “Now move your big, um.”

“My big…?”

_ Shit _ .

Eric did the first thing he could think of and grabbed a handful of flour, which he then tossed in Jack’s face as he made his escape. “I was asking about your professional hockey career, Mr. Zimmerman.”

It wasn’t until he saw Jack standing there next to him, covered in flour and attempting to finish his lattice as he talked about hockey that Eric realized it. He had just looked so soft and enamored with the topic of speech, and it hit him like a train. 

Eric Bittle was in love with Jack Zimmerman. Eric Bittle was in love with a straight boy.

  
  
  


In early December, the annual Epikegster was held, and for the first time in his nearly two and a half years at Samwell, Eric saw Jack standing by the stairs, drink in hand. 

After a while of talking with each other, they were both rooted in the spots they had claimed. Jack had a cup full of what Eric could only assume was some kind of beer, while he simply held his phone. He had been live-tweeting the whole thing, as he did every year. 

“Why don’t you have a drink, Bittle?” Jack asked at one point, gesturing with his own cup. 

“Oh,” Eric fought the urge to look down at his feet, “Katya doesn’t let me drink, and if she found out, she’d just about have a conniption. An angry Katya is not a Katya you want to meet.”

Jack just laughed and agreed before continuing the conversation. They somehow got to a story about some football players who had thrown up in Shitty’s room and started a fight. Eric decided then and there that he loved the way Jack told stories. He indulged him with little comments that just made him keep talking, and soon enough Eric realized it wasn’t the stories he liked, it was Jack’s voice. 

They were both about to take a selfie when someone spoke up, chirping Jack about it. Eric didn’t recognize him, but almost everyone else in the Haus did, so Eric assumed it was some hockey celebrity. The team had almost collectively passed out when he told them he didn’t know who ‘Bad Bob’ was, so it was probably like that. That didn’t mean Eric missed the hesitant and almost scared look on Jack’s face when he turned and saw him. 

After they went upstairs, Eric sought out Shitty. They were good friends. He probably knew something, right? And if Shitty wasn’t willing to share, then obviously it was just something Eric would have to find out through time and gaining his trust. 

“Hey, Shitty,” He called out when he reached the porch, which was suspiciously void of any patrons other than Shitty.

“Brah,” Shitty clambered over and slung an arm over Eric’s shoulder. “What’s on your mind, little man?”

Ignoring the nickname, he asked about Kent Parson (the name he had heard floating around the party and had assumed fit the blonde man that had made Jack look like that) to which Shitty immediately sobered up. 

“Look, Bits.” He took a deep breath before continuing as if deciding how to word this. “You should know Jack can get pretty jealous. Last time Parson dropped by, his team had just won the Stanley Cup. He was really modest about it, only brought it up if people asked or something, but you should have seen the way Jack acted toward him. I mean, yeah, it’s the fucking Stanley Cup, but it wasn’t like he was carrying around the Calder.

“It just freaked me out a bit, and I fucking hate saying it, so if this could stay between the two of us, that would be great.”

“Trust me, I wasn’t going to share that with anyone.” Eric still thought it was something more than that, but he thanked Shitty anyway and headed to his room. He suddenly had a headache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I am so sorry that this is so late. I was working all weekend, and we just started actually going back to school so I've been exhaused. I know it's no excuse, but I really am sorry. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. (I spent too much time writing this. I'm actually starting to say y'all)
> 
> Also, y'all know what's coming next. Prepare yourselves. I promise to have the next one up by Nov. 7th at the latest. Love you all!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive Kent Parson for the things he said to Jack. I could go on a whole-ass rant, but that’s not what you’re here for, so enjoy this chapter.
> 
> Side note - I am so sorry that this update is an entire week late. And I'm gonna be completely honest with you guys, I forgot last weekend and then just didn't have access to a computer this week. It's not much of an excuse, but I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter. Once again, sorry.

Jack was still wary around Kent, so the conversation had started out with civil, detached words to each other. It was just that Kent tended to say everything on his mind without thinking it through, even if it hurt the people around him. 

He had no idea how their civil conversation ended as yelling at each other. Jack wasn’t even sure he knew what they were yelling about until Kent had said the words that shook him to his very core. The words that reminded him exactly why he came to Samwell in the first place and made him feel like a shaking teenager who relied on anxiety medication just to get through the day. 

_“What? You’re scared everyone else is going to find out you’re worthless, right? Oh, don’t worry, just give it a few seasons, Jack. Trust me.”_

“G–get out of my room.” He managed through shaking teeth. “And stay– stay away from my team.” His skin felt like it didn’t quite fit on his body anymore and his breathing was getting heavier. 

“What, afraid I’ll tell them something?” He scoffed and turned around, grabbing the door handle and yanking it open to reveal Eric on his knees in the hallway. He was reaching for his key, and somehow Jack knew that he had just dropped it. That Eric would never listen in on a private conversation on purpose, but that didn’t change the fact that he had heard it all. Or, at least, the worst parts. 

“Well,” Kent cleared his throat and put his hat back on as he walked towards the steps. “Call me if you change your mind or whatever. Good luck with the Falconers. I’m sure that’ll make your dad proud.”

Jack could feel himself shaking as he stared after Kent. He didn’t even register Eric calling out his name until he had already slammed the door in his face. He slid down the other side and covered his face, trying to stop his quaking body.

He heard footsteps after a moment and assumed Eric had left him to his own devices. Jack couldn’t blame him. Who would ever want to try to fix the mess that was Jack Zimmerman? Yet, a few minutes later (or maybe just seconds, Jack’s sense of time was so screwed up right now), he heard something sliding under the door. 

The Haus had always had huge gaps under the doors, but no one really cared, so it had never been an issue. 

Eric had slid his phone under the door with his headphones wrapped around it and a piece of paper. 

With shaking hands, Jack removed the note and read it;

_I didn’t mean to listen in, but I heard a few things, and I’m sorry. You’re not worthless, I promise. This team needs you and so do I. I literally wouldn’t be here right now if you wouldn’t have interrupted me at the rink the first time, so thank you. I’m glad I met you that day._

_Also, I think I read somewhere that listening to music helps with anxiety? It always helps me when I’m feeling down, so I hope this helps._

_Passcode: 0505_

_P.S. I know you prefer country, but I only have pop/hip hop, so I hope that will do for now._

_P.P.S. My alarm is on my phone, so please wake me up tomorrow if you’re not done yet. Sorry._

_Please feel better soon, Bittle_

Jack just barely cracked a smile at that. He didn’t know how much it would actually help, but it was probably at least worth a try. 

He unwrapped the cords with shaky hands and got into the phone, which was already open to whatever app he listened to music on. He picked the first playlist he saw in the ‘Recently Played’ section and closed his eyes as he listened to the sounds of some pop singer he didn’t know through the earbuds. 

Sometime in the middle of the night, Jack woke up, sore from having slept on the floor for who knows how long. The sounds of a party were nowhere to be heard, so Jack knew it was late. 

He opened his door to return Eric’s phone. It had still been playing music when he woke, so it had to have at least some charge left on it. But when he opened the door, Eric fell back onto the floor, surprisingly enough, not waking up. Jack just stared for a moment before realizing what had happened. 

Eric had waited for him. 

Jack couldn’t help but stare. This kid – no, not a kid, he was almost twenty years old – had seen Jack near his worst and waited around in case he needed help _after_ already trying to help in a way that wasn’t too intrusive. What great things had Jack done in his past life to deserve Eric Bittle as a friend? 

At the thought of being a friend, his stomach clenched, and Jack knew why. He had known since the second time they met and he had saved Eric from falling onto the ice. He wanted more than that. But just because Eric was gay didn’t mean he automatically liked Jack. He was just a great person who deserved better than Jack. More than he could give. 

Jack gently picked Eric up and carried him across the hall to his own bed, easily finding the charger and plugging in his phone before pulling the covers over him. 

As he left, he stopped in the doorway, glancing back to see Eric clutching something in his arms that he had not noticed before. It was a small stuffed rabbit, and the fact that Eric brought it all the way from Georgia just endeared Jack to him even more. 

He bent down and, before he could overthink it, placed a gentle peck on Eric’s forehead. 

His face heated instantly as he realized exactly what he’d just done. He quickly backed away from the bed, somehow not tripping over himself in the process, and made his way back to his own bed. 

Jack didn’t get much sleep that night, too busy thinking about how beautiful Eric had looked as the moonlight filtered through his window and onto his golden hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, it is canon that Jack listens to country music. Also, I just cannot resist a princess carry.


End file.
